The Drawing

Ben pulled into the driveway and sat for a moment. It had been a long day at work. It was a Monday, and on Mondays the office was always flooded with calls from employees locked out of computers, needing passwords reset, or struggling to get into their email. Today had been especially busy as he’d bounced from call to call, even working through lunch. His boss was normally laid back, but a new baby at home and lack of sleep seemed to have made him edgy. He barked orders and rode Ben’s case about little things that would never have bothered him normally. And now Ben was later than he’d hoped getting home. The kids would have been home for over three hours. He hadn’t had long to talk to Claire through the day, but the two or three texts he’d received told him she was tired. He just wasn’t sure he was ready to head inside yet. Every thought like that was always followed by a stab of guilt, and he felt the same pang now. How can you be so selfish? She needs you; the kids need you. You’re the healthy one—pick up the slack. The internal dialogue was always the same. He took a deep breath, pulled the keys from the ignition, and opened the car door. 

The walk to the front door wasn’t long, but Ben took the time to breathe deeply of the crisp winter air. As the door opened, he was immediately flooded by the sounds of family life. The kids chattered over each other as they competed to tell Claire stories of their day. He set down his work bag, hugging his daughter and tousling his son’s hair.

            “Hi, Dad! Bye, Dad! I’m going out to play in the snow,” Miles gave his father a quick hug, then scampered past him out the front door.

            “Daddy, today was the best day. I had art, and I made a picture of our family! My teacher said it looks just like us. See, Daddy?” Allie held up a wrinkled cardstock paper. A stick figure family filled the page. It looked as though she had used every color in the box of crayons in her drawing. Ben saw himself, the tallest of the stick figures, with a bright orange tie and his wavy dark hair. “I even gave you a beard, Daddy,” she pointed to the scribbled lines beneath his face. Next to Ben stood Miles. His stick figure face was long and thin, his square glasses framed by his dark hair. Next to Miles was Allie, with a triangle beneath her round face which Ben assumed was meant to be a dress. Her brown hair flipped out at the ends, and a bright purple bow sat on one side of her head. Last was Claire, tall, thin, her beautiful red curls flowing to her shoulders. Allie had taken great care in drawing a green beaded necklace around her stick figure neck, but what drew Ben’s attention was what Claire held in her hand. There, next to her in the picture, stood a long blue cane. Ben swallowed and looked up to meet Claire’s eyes. 

            “She drew us just like we are—didn’t she do a great job, Ben?” Her eyes begged him not to mention the cane. He bit his lip and nodded.

            “You did an amazing job, Allie. I’m so proud of you! This is your best work yet!” Allie grinned as she skipped off to the living room. 

            Ben walked up behind Claire as she stood over the stove. He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her neck. 

            “The picture—she,” Ben began. Claire turned around, her eyes misty.

            “It’s the first time she’s drawn me like that, Ben. This is how she sees me now! She came home beaming, talking about how much time she’d spent on making sure each person looked just like the real thing. I told her it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, but it broke my heart. Is this us now?”

            He wrapped his arms more tightly around her small frame. No words could make it better. He sighed deeply. If only he had a way to make things better.